


Inversion Therapy

by Avaaricious



Series: Meet-Ugly [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bodily Functions, Bucky swears a lot, First Meetings, M/M, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, The opposite of meet-cute, Tumblr Prompt, alternative universe, and descriptions of vomit, by that i mean vomit, clint and natasha are the worst wingmen ever, so just be aware of that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-10 07:25:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4382669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avaaricious/pseuds/Avaaricious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AKA the "I get really sick on rollercoasters and you had the misfortune of sitting in front of me so, uh... sorry... " AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inversion Therapy

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry this took a while! Overseas trip (yeah, I went to Brooklyn dressed as Peggy Carter) plus other fandom stuff held it up, but it's here! It wouldn't be without Sarah, though. Thank you for your amazing betaing once again. You are a rockstar. 
> 
> I used the prompt as a guiding plot point rather than taking it super word-for-word. 
> 
> (also worthy of note, if you've read the previous work in this series, I actually went to both the Macy's stores in Brooklyn and Manhattan... Nearly killed myself laughing when there was a table of crappily folded shirts in the Brooklyn store. I took pictures. Because I'm bizarre.)

"'Scuse me... pardon me... coming through..." Bucky mouths out excuses as he pushes himself further ahead in the queue for the Thunderbolt. It isn't hard to see his intended target with her bright red hair.

 

He taps Natasha on the shoulder, who turns around and pops a gum bubble in his face. Bucky rolls his eyes. "Nice," he comments sarcastically, before casting his eye around in confusion. "Where's Clint?"

 

"Waiting at the exit," Natasha says between chews. "He feels like he's had one too many corndogs."

 

Bucky's about to argue, when he realises that's probably for the best. There's no way he wants to be wearing corndog. "Chicken," he dismisses Clint's exit, "more fun for us, then."

 

Natasha gives him a wide grin as the line scoots forward.

 

Bucky and Natasha (and Clint) are thrill ride junkies. Any ride that has them going upside-down, in and out, round and round, they have to give a try, and rate in terms of anticipation, heart-racing thrills, and finally, multiple riding potential.

 

They haven't been back to Coney Island since the new Thunderbolt was installed, and Bucky has been absolutely dying to get on it. Some of the guys that he works with think it's lame to be excited about rides -- especially being closer to thirty than twenty-five -- but Bucky has no problem telling them to bite him. This is what he likes to do, so he's going to do it.

 

Bucky's been staring at that sheer, vertical rise at the start, so distracted by the screams of the current riders that Natasha has to push him forward as the queue moves up. His hands clench and unclench in excitement. The general feedback he's read online has all been pretty positive. The old version of the coaster closed before he was born, and was a Brooklyn institution. He's dying to get on its namesake.

 

The new Thunderbolt is more like a wild mouse rollercoaster with its single nine-seater car instead of the traditional multiple cars that make a train. There's only one car operational at the moment, and the ride duration is a little less than two minutes. Loading is taking approximately a minute, and unloading about forty-five seconds. The entire cycle time is just under four minutes. Not too bad in an off peak period, when Luna Park has less staff rostered on.

 

What it all boils down to, basically, is that Nat and Bucky are next, and seeing as they are at the front of the queue, they can _also_ get the prime positioning of front row.

 

Bucky always aims for the front row. He wants to see where he's going without some idiot's head in the way. He wants the wind to hit his eyeballs and he wants to lift his arms up and howl.

 

Four minutes is almost too long for him to wait, and he's tapping his hands in an impatient staccato rhythm along the black paled barrier until the ride car comes rolling in, and the attendant opens the gates.

 

They make a beeline straight for the front row, beating out three teenagers who mutter and swear under their breaths.

 

"Sorry, kids," Bucky says with as much fake apology as he can muster, laughing when one of them flips him off.

 

Natasha heads in first, Bucky second. As the seats are three abreast, once the various groups are in, the attendant calls for a single rider to fill in the seat next to him.

 

Bucky and Nat buckle their harnesses in like experts and wait for them to lock off. As Bucky's tapping out another anxious rhythm on his knees, their single rider slips sheepishly into the vacant seat.

 

He catches sight of the guy out of the corner of his eye. Big dude. Like, _big_ big. Not too much taller than Bucky, but definitely broader.

 

Probably one of those guys that gets on and then screams like a little girl. Funny. Bucky grins, anxious to take off.

 

The single rider isn't clipping his harness down, though. They won't lock off if he doesn't do that, and the ride will take even longer, and Bucky's sick of waiting. Damnit.

 

"Hey. Gigantor," Bucky says a little abruptly, and the guy flicks him a confused-slash-annoyed look. "Pull your harness down."

 

Natasha rolls her eyes at his bad manners, but Bucky just shrugs. Well, as best he can with the straps limiting his shoulder movements. "I want this thing to _go_ already," he explains, not really sorry.

 

The big guy with the blond hair doesn't offer up much in way of comment, just sticks his jaw out and pulls the straps down, clicking them into place. Once done, the ride operator begins the final safety checks.

 

Bucky's grin is feral. He holds out his right hand for Natasha to slap the palm. "Coaster bros for life," he intones, trying to sound solemn but entirely unable to wipe the smile off his face.

 

"To the end of the line," Nat replies, scraping her nails lightly over his palm.

 

Bucky looks forward, adrenalin beginning to flow for the take-off that's about to happen. He grips the silver bar directly in front of him and smirks when he notices the random next to him doing the same thing. Only, that grip is decidedly more white-knuckled.

 

Arching a brow, and really not caring about the answer, Bucky asks "You scared, man?"

 

The guy puffs out a harsh breath. "Me? No. No, I'm fine."

 

The words are bitten out, and Bucky doesn't believe them for one second. But that's not really his problem.

 

He hears the guy chant, "I'm fine, I'm fine," a few more times under his breath. Bucky gives a short, husky chuckle.

 

"Just relax. It'll be over soon." Bucky gives half a shrug. It's incredibly hard to even be _close_ to empathetic when the ride is about to start. "Close your eyes, or something," he suggests distractedly.

 

"Has anyone ever fallen out of one of these?"

 

Bucky turns his head slowly to stare at him.

 

The blond lets out a slightly high-pitched, nervous laugh, and tugs at the straps around his broad shoulders fitfully. "You know, I don't want to know. Maybe I should just sit this one out. I'm not sure--"

 

Bucky would reply, but he catches sight of the ride attendant giving the person in the control booth the 'all clear'. "Too late!" he announces, before turning towards Natasha to whoop in excitement as the coaster starts its motion.

 

They make their way slowly along red-orange tracks to the incredibly vertical climb. There's a 'clunk' at the base of the rise, and the guy jumps a little.

 

Bucky sighs, wondering why he always gets sat next to these kinds of riders.

 

The ascent is fairly brisk; all Bucky can see is blue, hear the clanking and grinding of the car climbing the hill, and laboured breathing coming from next to him.

 

There is no stopping at the top, no cheap thrill to try and draw out the anticipation, just a sheer drop right down, and straight into the first loop. Bucky and Natasha both put their arms up and howl in delight. A few screams come from the back of the car as they whiz upside-down on the track.

 

"Let's goo-ooo-ooo--" Bucky hollers as almost immediately the Thunderbolt dips into a zero-g roll. It's not the smoothest coaster he's ever been on, there is a little bit of buffeting. He hears over the whistling wind and a few screams, the guy next to him grunt as his weight gets pushed against the strapping none too gently. He obviously doesn't know how to angle his body into the turns, making it a little easier. Also, being a little taller, he ends up smacking his head against the front guard a few times.

 

The Thunderbolt banks right, then left, then straight into the dive loop. He flicks a glance to his right when they're upside-down, watching Nat's flaming red hair work with gravity. Bucky laughs delightedly. It's impossible to feel bad with the wind whipping his face, the force of the coaster pinning him to the seat. It's a delicious little adrenalin rush that nothing else can really replicate.

 

There's a few more ups and downs before the final turn: a tight corkscrew.

 

"Oh _god_ ," he hears a pained voice to his left. Bucky glances in that direction briefly, to see the huge, blond man looking decidedly green. The guy's eyes are trained inexorably forward, but there's no mistaking the little spasming movement of his body, nor the ballooning cheeks.

 

Bucky's eyes widen. Oh no. Oh no no no no.

 

But it really is too late.

 

They hit the corkscrew and bank to the left. Bucky turns his head towards Natasha as far as it will go and squeezes his eyes shut, making sure to clamp his lips together, too.

 

There's a wretched, heaving sound, even over the cries of joy and roar of the wind by his head. Ugh, that _sound_. It's never the harbinger of goodness, ever.

 

And... and then there's _warmth. Wet warmth on his neck and the centre of his chest._

 

As the coaster comes out of the corkscrew, there's one last small rise before it hits the flat and begins to slow down.

 

Bucky cracks his eyes open and looks at Nat, hoping he's imagined what he's feeling and smelling. Judging by the expression of hysterical laughter on his friend's face, he gathers not.

 

Bucky slowly turns to find the front of his shirt and a few spots of his jeans splattered with vomit.

 

He looks to the blond guy in disbelief, who happens to be sitting there, wiping his mouth with a hand, exceedingly miserable. It's only when he notices Bucky's eyes boring into the side of his head that he turns.

 

The expression of dawning horror is nearly funny, save for the fact that Bucky _just got thrown up on._

 

By the time the coaster rolls to a stop at the unloading bay, Nat is in full hysterics, laughing so hard she can barely speak. She's not the only one. Those teenagers who flipped him off before the ride started don't even do him the courtesy of hiding their laughter, much to Bucky's embarrassment. The ride operator gives them a wide berth as they exit, and Bucky can't blame him. He's still too upset to say very much.

 

Meanwhile, the blond won't fucking _shut up_. As they disembark the ride and head to the exit, there's just a constant stream of babble.

 

"--'m so sorry. Oh my god. Really. I was feeling a little iffy beforehand, I think it was the cotton candy, but I didn't think it'd make me do _that_. I knew it, I _told_ Sam I wasn't feeling up to it but he said it was time to face my fears. I'm so--"

 

"If you apologise one more time, I'm gonna have to hurt you, pal," Bucky interrupts, holding up a hand. It's sticky, and it smells, and _fuck his fucking life._ He rubs his fingers together experimentally, screwing up his face in complete revulsion.

 

That's enough to shut the blond up immediately. He stands there looking dismal with a pathetically small patch of gross stuff on the black shirt he wears beneath a blue, short-sleeved button down.

 

The centrifugal forces of the Thunderbolt, combined with the corkscrew turn they were in definitely seemed fit to dump most of gross stuff squarely on Bucky.

Bucky looks down at his shirt. Whatever the guy ate, it hadn't been too much and it wasn't too chunky, which is something of a blessing. However, liquid in his system has offered up a unique splattering opportunity and--

 

Bucky puts his hand up and tentatively touches the side of his head. There's a wet patch and everything feels gummy. "Dude, did you get it in my _hair_?"

 

Big, blue eyes get turned on him. "I'm so sorry," he says again.

 

Bucky's fists clench at his sides.

 

It's about this time that Clint shows up. He takes a look at Natasha, then Bucky, then Steve, then Bucky again. Somehow, he's able to refrain from the redhead's disgusting display of mirth. But just barely.

 

"This is a good look for you, Buck," he offers, irritatingly upbeat.

 

"You shut up," Bucky spits back.

 

"Very avant-garde. Not sure about the smell, though." He wrinkles his nose, and Natasha laughs.

 

"Fuck you both."

 

"We talked about that, and decided not to. Remember? Couldn't figure out who'd be in the middle," he says, all deadpan snark but with a slight curve of his lips.

 

Bucky facepalms. The stinging slap of skin against skin nearly makes him feel better, save for the fact he forgets his hand is wet and kind of smelly and it's just _vile._ Bucky pulls it back quickly, disgust painted on his face, amongst other things. "Bunch of fucking comedians," he mutters grouchily.

 

Looking up from his fingers, he sees the blond guy staring at the three of them, and it's as though he's not sure whether to apologise again, or start laughing. Try as he might, Bucky's good mood is rather dead. "What are _you_ looking at?" he asks belligerently.

 

The guy opens his mouth to answer, but unfortunately Nat gets in first. "His lunch," she quips, only to dissolve into another fit of giggles.

 

"Excuse me--" Blondie tries to cut in, but he's ignored.

 

"Don't start with me, _Natalia_ ," Bucky intones, using Nat's despised given name, "I think you've got melted cotton candy courtesy of Johnny Bravo in your hair."

 

Nat's eyes open wide and she looks to Clint desperately. Clint gives her a cursory examination before shaking his head in the negative. She turns to glare at Bucky. "You're such an asshole, _James_."

 

"Guys, excuse me--" The interruption is louder this time, but it's still ignored.

 

"You'd be an asshole too if you were wearing someone else's stomach lining--"

 

Clint steps in, and when _he_ starts becoming the voice of reason, everyone knows they've tipped too far off the deep end. "Peace, children. Peace." He holds his arms out in a conciliatory gesture.

 

"We're not velociraptors, Clint," Natasha puts her hands on her hips.

 

"If we were, I'd be Blue, anyway," Bucky mutters, to Natasha's derisive snort.

 

"You so would _not_ , _I--_ "

 

" _Enough_ ," Clint says again. "You. Tall man. What's your name? I assume it's not actually Johnny Bravo."

 

Both Bucky and Natasha stop bickering long enough to turn and look at the guy trying to fold in on himself, despite being at least 6'2".

 

"Steve," he says, standing a little taller when he's addressed.

 

"What were you going to say? It can be hard to interrupt Dee and Dum when they get into full flight."

 

"I was just going to say there's restrooms not far to get cleaned up in."

 

Bucky looks down at his green t-shirt. There's absolutely no way he wants to be wearing it for a second longer. It's wet and sticking to him and it smells. It smells _bad._ Good thing it's not one of his favourites.

 

"I need to get out of this thing. Ain't no way I'm wearing it anymore today."

 

"We can go find you a new shirt and meet you at the bathrooms," Natasha says, and Clint nods. Bucky thinks she's finally stopped teasing him.

 

"Go get cleaned up," she adds, "I'll send Clint into the restrooms soon." Bucky waits for another zinger that just doesn't come. Maybe she's taken pity on him, even though he called her Natalia. He _did_ get thrown up on, after all.

 

"... Okay," he says. He turns towards the tall, blond man and gestures with his hand. "Lead on, Steve."

 

Steve gives a curt nod to Clint and Natasha, before inclining his head towards their direction of travel. Bucky keeps pace with him silently.

 

It's an awkward journey, there's no two ways about it. Steve has his hands shoved in his pockets, Bucky is surreptitiously pulling his shirt away from his body because everything's starting to cool down, and it feels worse than when it was warm.

 

Fuck this. All he wanted to do was to ride the new rollercoaster and have some fun. Maybe it was some fucked up version of karma. Clint ate corn dogs but didn't get on... however Bucky _still_ got thrown up on.

 

Did he do something to offend the amusement park gods?

 

People take one look at them -- or one whiff of the air, as the case may be -- and they part like the Red Sea before Moses.

 

"If I'd known this was how to get through the crowd, I would've gone on one of those things years ago," Steve says under his breath. Bucky's not sure he's meant to hear it, but can't help snorting out a laugh. It _is_ nice to be able to glide through the public miasma easily.

 

He looks across to Steve, who's glancing at him with a wary friendliness, but not saying anything that might get his head bitten off. Bucky sighs. That's _his_ fault. He was being a pretty major dick before the ride took off. A little more empathy might've gotten him to notice how terrified Steve actually was, and gotten him off the ride before it took off. Really, it's not the dude's fault he threw up. It's happened to the best of them -- though not to Bucky for years.

 

Bucky wracks his brain for something to say, an icebreaker. "I'm guessing you don't make a habit out of rollercoasters," he says as they finally reach the restrooms. They enter and find it surprisingly empty.

 

"Not really," Steve says, looking to see if anyone's in any of the cubicles, before taking off his outer shirt and resting it on the sink. "I had... a lot of illnesses when I was young. Some breathing and heart problems... bad back, too." Bucky looks at him in surprise, and Steve continues. "I was so small I could never really _do_ that stuff when I wanted to, so I thought I'd give it a go now." The sentence is finished rather miserably.

 

Bucky grunts a response as he places hands on the back shoulders of his shirt and peels it right off with a disgusting, sticky feeling. "I wouldn't have known just by, y'know, _looking_ at you."

 

He puts the shirt in the sink, dollops soap over it and starts running the water.

 

"I grew out of it," Steve responds.

 

Turns out the black shirt underneath Steve's blue one is not so much a shirt as it is a singlet. It showcases round shoulders and incredibly toned arms. "And how," Bucky murmurs under his breath. Louder, he gives a husky, self-deprecating laugh. He needs to own his shitty behaviour. "And you had to be stuck next to an asshole like me. I probably deserved getting upchucked on."

 

"I don't think you're an asshole. A little abrupt, maybe, but not an asshole," Steve says firmly, and Bucky looks at him. Steve's eyes are trained unwaveringly back on his face. Bucky gets a weird feeling in his chest; his heart invariably speeds up a few beats.  

 

In all fairness, Bucky's quite willing to blame that on the way Steve's shoulders are perfect white curves that contrast against the black of his singlet.

 

Bucky looks away and clears his throat, scrubbing more furiously at his shirt. "'Abrupt' is polite-speak for 'asshole'," he remarks.

 

Steve doesn't argue again immediately, and Bucky is simultaneously gratified and disappointed. As he busies himself hand scrubbing the shirt, Bucky watches Steve duck awkwardly in front of the sink, running water over the patch on fabric of his singlet.

 

His height doesn't make it the easiest job. Bucky cocks an eyebrow. He has a suggestion, though he isn't sure in his heart of hearts how altruistic it really is.

 

"You know, that'd probably be easier if you took it off," Bucky suggests, proud of how flippant the remark is.

 

Steve shoots him a wide-eyed look before giving a little laugh. "I guess," he says with a small smile, which is all the warning he gives before pulling the singlet right off his head.

 

" _Bullshit_ ," Bucky yelps and flicks his gaze immediately to the sink of soapy water in front of him, scrubbing even harder. He's no slouch in the looks department, but this guy is from another fucking _planet._ Broad shoulders, slim hips, amazing muscle tone over his arms and back, and possibly sporting an eight-pack rather than the requisite six.

 

"What was that?" Steve asks. He obviously didn't hear over the running of two faucets simultaneously.

 

Bucky stops scrubbing for a moment to give Steve a hard look. "No way you were a sick kid. _Look at you._ "

 

Steve lifts one shoulder in an awkward half-shrug and a small grimace. "Ninety-five pounds soaking wet, give or take," he says, and there's something slightly sad in his voice that gives Bucky pause. He immediately gets the impression that Steve's had to explain himself a lot. And that's not fun at all.

 

Bucky decides he has to try and rectify the situation. "That's cool," he says. "People change. To look at me, you wouldn't know that I used to be a _real_ _douchebag_ ," he finishes with a smirk and is gratified that Steve starts to laugh.

 

Or he would be, if the laughing didn't cause those round shoulders to shake, or his eyes to crinkle in the corners. Fuck it all.

 

"You're not that bad," Steve says presently, still chuckling a little. "Although I still don't really know what to call you..."

 

Bucky takes a hand out of the sink, wipes it on his jeans, and holds it out to Steve. "Bucky. Bucky Barnes."

 

Steve holds out his hand and they shake. The touch makes Bucky shiver, the blond's hand having been under the chilly faucet water.

 

"Steve Rogers," he replies, brow wrinkling in confusion. "But I thought your friend called you 'James'?"

 

Bucky makes a distasteful face. "Given name. She calls me that when I'm being a bastard. Or she's being a bitch."

 

"Really? And what situation was that?"

 

Bucky's lips twitch. "A little of column 'A', a little of column 'B'."

 

Steve laughs and Bucky decides he really likes that sound.

 

Pulling the shirt out of the basin, Bucky wrings the water out of it and gives it an experimental sniff. He draws back a little, nostrils flaring, before laying it over the faucet at the back of the sink. "A lot better, but not the best. How's yours going?"

 

As Steve answers, Bucky ducks the side of his head as close to the faucet as he can get, splashing water and even a little bit of soap into his hair and on his neck.

 

"My overshirt's not bad at all. It's really just the singlet..."

 

Steve trails off and Bucky looks up from his position to find the blond staring at him with a slightly strangled expression. Bucky realises he's shirtless and bending forward in his, frankly, _spectacular_ ass jeans. He splashes a little more water onto his head and stands up, slicking the slightly longer length at the crown back against his scalp. A few droplets run down the sides of his neck. Steve's Adam's apple bobs noticeably.

 

A little electric shock of anticipation sparks through Bucky's nervous system as he meets Steve's eyes.

 

He's standing in a Coney Island restroom, shirtless with another guy after just being thrown up on, and he ponders whether his day is going to get any weirder, when Clint walks in.

 

"Bucky, are you-- whoa, boys. You didn't tell me about the dress code," Clint says as he catches sight of the two of them. "Or lack of one." Even though they're not standing that close, Bucky takes a reflexive step away from Steve.

 

"Funny man," he addresses Clint. Looking at his friend's hand, he sees a plastic souvenir bag. "Did you find me a new shirt?"

 

Bucky doesn't know how he knows, but despite Clint's face not changing expression one iota, he _feels_ like something's up. "Yeah," he says. "Nat found one."

 

Tiny warning bells go off in Bucky's head. He narrows his eyes at the bag in Clint's grasp.

 

"Uh huh," Bucky says slowly, holding out his hand for the shirt. Clint tosses it to him almost reluctantly. He looks between Clint and Steve, who are both watching him expectantly, and the weight of that suddenly settles on Bucky's shoulders.

 

"Gimme a minute," Bucky says wearily, and heads into one of the vacant cubicles with the bag in his hand. He takes a moment to sit down on the closed toilet seat and take stock of his situation.

 

Ride the Thunderbolt. Get thrown up on by guy. Acts like a douchebag (marginal allowances made because of vomit). Guy turns out to be kind of charming, with a bangin' body. Guy also seems to be expressing interest.

 

Bucky contemplates the weirdness of the afternoon's events as he tunes out the murmurs of Clint and Steve making small talk, opening the bag to see the shirt Nat found for him.

 

"Mother _fucker_ ," he exclaims. He _knew_ she let him off the hook too easily before; he fucking _knew it._

 

"Anything wrong, Buck?" Clint asks.

 

"I'm not wearing this," Bucky grinds out between his teeth. "Have you seen it?"

 

"No," comes the answer, "But Nat told me to tell you it was the only one they had that would fit you." Clint pauses, and the silence is stony. The actual absence of sound nearly hurts his ears. Bucky stares incredulously at the garment.

 

After allowing that little gem to comfortably sink in, Clint continues. "Also, it came from the sale table and there are no returns."

 

Bucky feels he's sorely missed his calling as a sailor. He has the requisite expletive-riddled vocabulary, and lets a few more choice words fly.

 

"It can't be that bad," Steve's voice cuts through the swears, sounding gentle and conciliatory, and Bucky gets a weird tingle in his toes. He doesn't have enough energy to maintain the rage, it's too exhausting.

 

"It's worse," Bucky sighs. Whatever Nat said, if it fits at all, it's going to be second-skin tight. And he's going to look fucking _ridiculous_.

 

"I'm sure you'd make it look good," Steve encourages, answering his unspoken worries.

 

Bucky stares at the back of the wooden cubicle door, unsure of whether Steve's just being nice, or gently flirting with him.

 

An idea forms in his head and gets blurted out through his mouth before he's had a decent chance to think about it first. "Bet you dinner that's not true."

 

As soon as the words leave his lips, Bucky freezes. He hadn't meant to -- he wasn't even _sure._ Wager? Proposition? -- Steve over a stupid shirt. He probably wouldn't even--

 

"You're on," Steve replies decisively. "Come out, already."

Bucky blinks slowly, brow creased in confusion. It's just an _expression_ , he didn't actually _mean_ to bet anything. Like 'I bet you a million dollars', or something. Nobody takes that shit seriously.

 

Except Steve, apparently. Huh.

 

Bucky sets his jaw mulishly. "Fucking _fine_ ," he hisses, struggling into the tight shirt. He can always stand to win a bet, especially if food is involved.

 

Leaving shame somewhere behind with his pre-vomit ensemble, Bucky steps out of the cubicle with his arms crossed over his chest, each hand pressed hard between his ribs and inner biceps, face a mask of displeasure.

 

See, when Natasha wants to remind you she's the boss, she plays a hard, long game.

 

He's met with wide-eyed expressions of shock, and the only thing that trumps his embarrassment is the personal vindication that he is right. He _does_ look ridiculous.

 

The shirt is lilac, with darker lavender ringers around the neck and arms. It barely brushes his navel, leaving a pretty big expanse of skin on show before the waistband of his jeans. Add to the graphic on the front that his arms are doing an okay job of covering, it leads him to believe that Natasha went shopping for him in the women's section.

 

"Is... is that all?" Clint says, his voice betraying a suspicious quaver. "Something on the front of it?"

 

Bucky slowly lowers his arms, dropping them by his sides. There's a cartoon illustration of the rollercoaster on the front, and in a loopy, cursive script it proclaims 'I Rode The Thunderbolt!'

 

The print is distorted by the way the shirt hugs his chest in a practically obscene fashion, outlining every little bump and ridge of muscle, making it stand out in relief. It'd maybe be more embarrassing in that respect if he hadn't already been shirtless in front of Steve, who'd gotten an eyeful of everything anyway.

 

As to the man in question... Steve's mouth is slack, hanging open, though his expression isn't exactly one of horror. His eyes are big, and when he can bring himself to close his mouth, he presses his lips together before his tongue comes out to moisten them.

 

Bucky's expression softens. He worries his bottom lip with his teeth at the reaction, bouncing from feeling mad and embarrassed to... exposed. Steve's eyes seem to flick down to Bucky's mouth, and stop there. Bucky's heart thumps irregularly in his chest, and his stomach turns.

 

The sound of a phone camera going off startles Bucky out of his reverie, and he shoots a murderous look at Clint. The shutter goes off again. "Oh, that's _much_ better. I like your expression; you can really _feel_ the rage."

 

"Fucking delete that, Clint!" Bucky orders, taking a threatening step forward.

 

Clint keeps snapping photos, even as he's backing out of the restroom, moving the phone and talking like an over-the-top fashion photographer. "Yes, _yes_ , darling. Anger, ire, malevolence! I want to see it all!"

 

"Clint..." Bucky gets closer, but Clint's already near the exit, knowing Bucky won't actually _leave_ the restroom dressed like that.

 

"Now give me some chagrin. Mmm, perhaps a little melancholy? I want you to be like a lemur. Show me lemur, Bucky."

 

Clint's laughter echoes around the tiles as he bolts. Bucky sighs. He flicks a glance to Steve, who seems to have a small smile painting his lips.

 

Bucky retreats further into the restroom, not sure what to do with his arms. He ends up crossing them again, the rings around the sleeves of the shirt cutting into his biceps.

 

"So, uh. My friends are both assholes like me, apparently," Bucky says.

 

"I like them," Steve announces, and a part of Bucky is a little relieved. Only _he_ gets to call Clint and Natasha that. If anyone else did, he'd take it out of their hide. "Also the shirt," he quips, and Bucky finally lets the mortification of the last few minutes overtake him.

 

"I am not wearing this in public," he mutters, and turns slightly away from Steve, reaching behind him to grab two fistfuls of fabric and lift the shirt up over his head. The collar -- that he only _just_ got his head through in the first place -- snags around his jaw and gets caught.

 

On top of everything, he can't fight his way out of a girl's theme park t-shirt.

 

As he begins to struggle, he feels hands on his biceps. "Whoa, let me help," Steve says, his touch freezing Bucky's movement immediately.

 

Bucky lets Steve unhook him and pull the shirt off as gently as he possibly can. The thing is, Bucky doesn't realise that Steve's come to stand directly in front of him until the shirt's up and off, and he's looking directly at Steve's nose.

 

There's a moment where he just stares, before his brain kicks into gear and he steps back reflexively. Steve lets out an embarrassed-sounding cough, and holds the creased shirt out to Bucky. Bucky takes it just to have something to do with his hands.

 

"So I can't wear my shirt, and I _won't_ wear this one. Really not sure where that leaves me. I'm not going to _Jersey Shore_ it and walk out there topless."

 

Steve -- staring at him oddly, mind -- blinks a few times and perks up, as though he's suddenly awakening from a daze. "You could wear mine," he offers.

 

Bucky laughs huskily and ruffles his hair at the back. "Kinda think you're going to need it, pal."

 

The blond backs up without turning away from Bucky to where he'd draped his blue button down over the sink. "There wasn't really anything on this one, and it rinsed off pretty well. You could wear it and I've still got a singlet." Steve gestures to the tight, black garment on his body. He hadn't been wearing it when Bucky first went into the cubicle.

 

It's a viable option, and much better than the other two he's presented with. That, and maybe, if he borrows Steve's shirt, that means that...

 

a) Steve's walking around only in the singlet, which is really doing the world a favour, and

 

b) He has a not-ridiculously flimsy excuse to maybe see him again in the future.

 

Bucky gives a sigh, as though maybe he's a bit hard done by. "All right," he capitulates, "If you're sure you won't need it."

 

Steve grins. It's the first time he's been subjected to it, and it kind of makes him want to sit down. The thing is fucking _blinding_. It's like staring directly into the sun, and little white spots dance in front of his eyes.

 

He hands the shirt to Bucky, who takes it. Their fingers brush briefly, and Bucky pulls away. He gingerly sticks the stupid lilac shirt from Natasha into the back of his jeans, and puts on the blue one.

 

Bucky turns towards the mirror and begins to button it slowly. It's a little loose on him -- around the shoulders, and the arms come down a bit further than he'd normally wear -- but less in the ill-fitting way, and more in the fashionably relaxed fit. And the colour is phenomenal. Bucky finishes buttoning the shirt and cuffs the sleeves so they sit just above his biceps.

 

Glancing in the mirror one last time, and giving his damp hair a little ruffle, he turns towards Steve. Looking... stupidly good in just the singlet and bootcut jeans, and watching his every move. Bucky raises one eyebrow, and Steve purses his lips and looks away.

 

"Somehow I feel like I'm overdressed," he says wryly.

 

Steve looks back to him and shakes his head, slowly at first and then faster. "No, no. You look good."

 

Bucky sighs heavily. "A damn sight better than before, at least. And I smell better."

 

There's a semi awkward pause where they just stand facing each other and staring. Just how does one extricate oneself from this situation?

 

_Hey, I was kind of a dick and you threw up on me on a ride. We've seen each other shirtless, you've seen me wearing girl's clothes, and now have loaned me your shirt--_

"So you owe me dinner," Steve says abruptly, and Bucky makes a confused face at him. Frankly, he's a little offended. Steve threw up on _him_.

 

"What? Why? Is this because my shirt's covered in your last meal?"

 

"No and-- that's disgusting, Bucky," Steve says, looking repulsed. The expression is oddly endearing on his face. "We made a bet, remember?"

 

The bet. The bet. What was the bet?

 

_"I'm sure you make it look good."_

_"Bet you dinner that's not true."_

 

_"You're on."_

 

Bucky rolls his eyes. "I won the bet. That means... _you_ owe _me_ dinner."

 

Steve takes a deliberate step forward. "No, _I_ won. The bet was for you making that shirt look good."

 

"And it looked--"

 

" _Incredible,"_ Steve said, his earnest, serious delivery somewhat undermined by the slight redness to his cheeks. As though being that forward is rather embarrassing for him.

 

And damnit, that's pretty endearing.

 

Bucky bites on his lip at Steve's nearer proximity. "Yeah, that's me. A regular Junior Miss model."

 

Steve gives a quirky little grin. "A Junior Miss model couldn't have pulled it off nearly as well."

 

" _There's_ the ego boost I was looking for," Bucky says, giving a small grin in return. "I'm still unconvinced, but for your sake--" Steve snorts, "--I'll concede the bet."

 

Steve stands up a little straighter. A few muscles move in his shoulders and Bucky's mouth is suddenly a desert.

 

Bucky shrugs one shoulder, trying for nonchalant. "Okay, so, you want to grab some hot dogs?" He motions his head towards the door and begins to walk. Steve turns and falls into step beside him.

 

"Hot dogs?" Steve asks incredulously. "You think I'm a cheap date?" As they walk, Steve's hand lightly brushes the small of his back.

 

The word 'date' -- and the barest touch of Steve's hand -- has Bucky feeling a little woozy in his own stomach, though he's pretty sure he's not going to throw up. Maybe.

 

"Cheap?" Bucky scoffs as they head out into the open. "Have you _seen_ the prices of food around here?"

 

***

Bucky stands outside the entrance to Luna Park, idly swapping weight from one foot to the other while he waits for Clint and Natasha.

 

Someone calls Bucky's name, and he turns around to see them approaching, wearing light jackets to combat the slight chill in the Fall air.

 

Natasha kisses him on one cheek, Clint simultaneously on the other. Bucky rolls his eyes, but enjoys the attention from his friends anyway.

 

"Save some for me," another voice chimes in.

 

Bucky looks up and beams a grin as Steve joins them. He sidles up to Bucky, and gently grips the collar of a familiar blue button down. He gives Bucky a lingering kiss on the mouth, before sliding one arm around his waist.

 

"Disgusting," Clint deadpans.

 

"Don't watch, then," Bucky remarks back, leaning into Steve's body a little.

 

"I can't help it," Clint complains dramatically, "it's fun to mock your life choices."

 

"I can't believe it's been six months," Natasha interrupts, before the snark-argument became a snark-war that would rage across the length and breadth of Brooklyn.

 

"Yeah," Bucky says, a little half-smile on his lips as he looks across to Steve. "Six months since we did everything ass-backwards."

 

"What do you mean?" Steve asks, a little crease forming between his brows.

 

"Well, our day went vomit, walk of shame, undressing and _then_ dinner." He ticks off each event on his fingers. "It usually tends to happen the other way around."

 

Steve grins, but anything he's about to answer with is cut off by Natasha.

 

"No, what _I_ meant is, I can't believe it's been six months since you've been on a decent ride!"

 

"Yeah," Clint puts in. "Not one thrill ride in six months. No coasters, no dippers, nothing that spins too fast. What gives, Bucky?"

 

Bucky adopts a serene smile. "Haven't really felt like it."

 

And he hasn't, not really. Being with Steve hasn't dulled his love of fast rides, not by a long shot. But when his boyfriend is around -- which is a _lot_ \-- he doesn't need the external rush to get his internals zinging around.

 

"Who are you, pod person?" Natasha pokes him in the chest. "What's the tallest ride you've been on lately?"

 

"Six foot two," Bucky deadpans. Steve's shoulders shake with silent laughter, and Natasha glares at him.

 

"The _tallest_ thing I've seen you on lately is the Wonder Wheel." She gestures to the eccentric Ferris wheel with its stationary and sliding cars.

 

Bucky turns to Steve. "Oh yeah. Wanna go on the Wonder Wheel again?"

 

"That's so _boring_ ," Natasha says, rolling her eyes. "Please tell me you at least go in the sliding cars."

 

"Nope. Harder to make out in those ones," Steve answers.

 

"Is that all you can think about?"

 

The blond arches one brow. "Have you _seen_ him?"

 

"I've got a simple explanation for you guys," Bucky says, interrupting, though Steve's words bring nice warmth to his cheeks.

 

"Remember what we always rate the rides on? Go on, tell me."

 

Clint numbers them off on his fingers. "Anticipation. Heart-racing thrills. Multiple riding potential."

 

"Exactly. It just so happens this one--" Bucky nods to Steve, "--ticks all of those boxes for me on his own, anyway."

 

Steve snorts out an ungainly laugh, but it takes another moment for the comment to sink in for his friends.

 

It's worth it when it does.

 

Natasha's eyes widen comically enough that her full irises are exposed, looking like pretty green marbles. Clint just starts shaking his head, as though he has an upset stomach.

 

"'Multiple riding potential'? _Really_? The height joke was bad enough, did you have to go _there_ , too?"

 

Bucky's arm slides around Steve's waist, his fingers sneaking underneath the waistband of his jeans. "I tell it like it is, Clint. Sorry."

 

"Honestly, it's like imagining my parents having sex," Clint complains. Natasha shakes her head, looking thoroughly amused, and starts to drag Clint away. "Let's leave the grandpas to their old-fashioned rides," she says, although Bucky catches a twinkle in her eye.

 

They've headed off in the direction of Luna Park, leaving Bucky and Steve in front of Deno's Wonder Wheel Amusement Park. Its known for its very family-oriented-and-definitely-not-thrill rides.

 

Bucky turns towards Steve, pressing their chests flush together and kissing him thoroughly. Steve's large hands fist the fabric of his former shirt, and it's a very good feeling. Steve's getting the old heart racing again already.

 

They break the kiss and Steve brushes a thumb over Bucky's lips. "Six months since you've done anything exciting, huh? I'm sorry I'm not much of a thrill-seeker," he apologises.

 

"I wouldn't say it's been six months since I've done _anything_ exciting," Bucky trails off suggestively, and Steve rolls his eyes.

 

"I mean it. You don't do that stuff anymore because of me."

 

"I spend time doing shit that I _enjoy_ , Steve. That's all," Bucky says simply.

 

They're on their way to another kiss when Bucky's phone vibrates. He pulls it out of his pocket.

 

It's a message from Natasha. It says:

 

_Thought you might like some time away from the giant man-child that is Clint tonight. We'll meet you at 8 for celebratory dinner. Even if you do ride kiddie shit now, CoasterBros4life_

Bucky smiles and is tapping out his response -- _To the end of the line_ \-- when Steve's phone buzzes.

 

Steve retrieves his cell and checks it, barking out a laugh that he quickly stifles. Bucky gets a suspicious feeling.

 

"Who was that from?"

 

"Nat," Steve responds, the large grin still plastered on his face. He makes absolutely no move to show Bucky the message.

 

Bucky leans in as though to kiss Steve. However, as soon as his boyfriend gets close enough, he snatches the phone out of his grip.

 

"Hey!" Steve complains.

 

"Hush," Bucky says, looking at the screen, before letting a few choice swear words escape his lips.

 

Natasha plays a Long. Fucking. Game.

 

It's one of the photos that Clint took six months ago of Bucky in that fucking 'I Rode The Thunderbolt' t-shirt, with a supremely angry expression on his face. Bucky had stolen Clint's phone later that day and deleted the photos, but obviously he'd shot at least one off to Nat before that happened.

 

He's so busy getting worked up about the photo, he nearly misses the line of text beneath it:

_Happy Anniversary! Make out with him at the top of the Wonder Wheel._

 

"It's good advice," Steve murmurs next to Bucky's ear, and Bucky's irritation melts away like ice cream in the sun.

 

"It's not the worst I've ever heard," Bucky admits, handing the phone back to Steve with feigned reluctance.

 

Bucky slips his hand into Steve's as they begin walking towards the entrance of Deno's. Laughter floating on the breeze gets louder, as they approach. Steve is still typing away on his phone with one hand. "What are you doing _now_?" Bucky asks.

 

"Nothing much," Steve says, "just emailing myself a copy of this photo for safe keeping.

 

"Shit," Bucky curses. "Delete it. Now."

 

"Can't. Already done," Steve smiles brightly. "It's also saved to your contact information now."  

 

"I kind of hate you right now."

 

"No, you don't," Steve says, tugging on Bucky's hand as they walk. "It's an extremely poignant reminder of the day we met, I want to keep it forever. You never gave my shirt back, I get to keep the photo."

 

"If you want a poignant reminder of the day we met, you could just stuff me full of chilli dogs and come with me on the Tilt-A-Whirl," Bucky snarks. "My stomach is feeling a little dicey."

 

"I've still got my heart set on the Wonder Wheel," Steve responds blithely.

 

"Sure, sure," Bucky waves his hand dismissively. "We'll ride all your favourites."

 

"Are you sure you don't feel like you're missing out on the big thrill rides?" Steve asks again as they head through the turnstiles.

 

Bucky grins facetiously, and places a very inappropriate hand on Steve's ass. "Trust me, Rogers, I've got all the 'multiple riding potential' I need right here."

 

And the amusement park gods looked down on them and smiled.

 


End file.
